That’s my brother. Who? Sylvest...

It’s October 1963 and I’ve changed clothes and places again. I’m now a regular officer cadet in the Military College, Curragh Camp, County Kildare.
It’s mid afternoon and I’m standing on the balcony of our living quarters with another cadet looking out across the square that is about half the size of a football pitch and is surrounded by 2-story red bricked buildings, which are used for living accommodation, lecture rooms and offices.
The next moment this fighter jet appears from nowhere, inverted - I mean upside down - and almost touching the chimney of the buildings on the right of the square, and diving towards the ground sucking the tarmacadam from the square, and accelerating flat out up into the sky, brushing the chimneys of the buildings on the left by inches on its departure. It’s awesome; it’s happened in split seconds, and is now rocketing towards space, the sound coming from behind. This is my brother Sylvester.
He’s in an old Vampire jet that’s fixed with cannabilised parts, taken from donor Vampires, which are well past their sell by date and should have been put to sleep a long time ago.
An experienced airline pilot and ex-fighter pilot went up with my brother Sylvester, riding shotgun. His name was Lenny Lenehan and he was big into heavy metal and rode a Norton Commando motorbike, which was the ‘Terminator’ of its time, and he held the land speed record for the journey from Dublin to Gormanstown Airbase, a distance of about 30 miles, which he covered in under 15 minutes. Lenny’s brothers, and he had lots of them, were into speed and two of them were rally drivers.
When they landed Lenny was green in the face and as sick as a parrot, when he wobbled out of the brother’s Vampire and threw up all over the place, destroying his clothes after his spin into space. He never rode with ‘The Brud’ again.